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Posts Tagged ‘Baby Boom generation’

Glenn B Crowley; 1943

In My Daughter’s Eyes

Martina McBride

 

In my daughter’s eyes, I am a hero.

I am strong and wise, and I know no fear,

But the truth is plain to see.

She was sent to rescue me.

I see who I want to be

In my daughter’s eyes.

In my daughter’s eyes,

Everyone is equal.

Darkness turns to light,

And the world is at peace.

This miracle God gave to me,

Gives me strength

When I am weak.

I find reason to believe

In my daughter’s eyes,

And when she wraps her hand around my finger,

Oh, it puts a smile in my heart.

Everything becomes a little clearer.

I realize what life is all about.

It’s hanging on when your heart has had enough.

It’s giving more when you feel like giving up.

I’ve seen the light.

It’s in my daughter’s eyes.

In my daughter’s eyes,

I can see the future,

A reflection of who I am and what we’ll be,

And though she’ll grow and someday leave,

Maybe raise a family,

When I’m gone, I hope you see how happy she made me.

For I’ll be there,

In my daughter’s eyes.

 

I’ve used this song before to describe how I feel about my own daughter.  Our relationship is strong and solid, something for which I worked hard and something for which I will be forever grateful.  However, it also describes my father and me.  I remember when I was roughly 15, hearing my grandmother describe me as “daddy’s little girl”.  It embarrassed me at the time, but now that I’m older, I admit … I like it.  He and I had a unique relationship.  I’ve described it before a little, but suffice it to say that both of our personalities are hard-headed and that neither one of us was ever willing to back down in a disagreement.  However, our off-beat sense of humor matched … and our willingness to outwork anyone that attempted to put us down … and our sense of determination … among other things … made us understand each other, even when things may have been strained or when we were not near each other.  He was one of the strongest men I ever have known, and he would do anything for his family if he could.  When you read the words above and look in my eyes, you will see the reflection of who he was and what he was and still is.

My daddy’s middle name was “B”.  Yes, that’s right.  “B”.  It didn’t stand for anything.  It was simply “B”.  That always fascinated me as a child, because, I mean, doesn’t EVERYONE have a middle name (at least in the simple-minded thinking of a child)?  There’s a story behind that which makes me laugh every time I remember him telling it to me.  Apparently, he was supposed to have the middle name of “Brooks” but when my grandfather, a Kansas farmer born in 1901, recorded the birth certificate, he didn’t realize it was an “official document”.  He wrote in the name with just an initial, figuring that this was how most people would refer to him as he grew up, even though he had a middle name that his family would know.  My daddy always thought that his middle name was “Brooks” … until he was inducted into the United States Navy during World War 2.  They required his birth certificate.  When he received it, he found the truth … and decided not to bother changing it, because (1) he was going into the Navy and didn’t have that kind of time; (2) it cost money to do which he didn’t have; and (3) he liked it because it was unique.  I know that I have needed to explain it to people my entire life when asked for my father’s full name … that “B” was in fact his official middle name.  Hell, even on my own birth certificate, next to the area where they put in your father’s name, someone put “ok” next to it and initialed it, which makes me laugh that it even showed up as something in question on my OWN birth certificate.

He was born August 25, 1924.  He was 30 years older than me, so his age was always easy for me to remember: take mine and add 30 years.  Since I just turned 60 years old in July (which very few people realized), he’d be 90 today.  However, he died August 28, 1992 (3 days after his 68th birthday).  To me, that’s mind-boggling, as that was 22 years ago.  It’s also only 8 years older than I am right now.  The thing is: his face, his voice, even his aroma are still vivid in my brain.  I miss him still.  My mother, who turned 86 on August 17th, misses him still also.

My mother came from a completely different background than he did.  I have mentioned that previously, but I’ll go into that in more detail in another blog-post at some point in time.  My main point right now is that she came from a solid family and never had to worry about the simple things while growing up.  My father, on the other hand, was raised, as he always said “on the other side of the tracks”.  My mother and he met in college, which he was attending after World War 2 on the GI Bill.  I have always admired that drive in him to better himself.  I think that’s where I get a lot of my drive and my entrepreneurial spirit … but I will admit that both sides of the family have strong-willed entrepreneurial ancestors, so I come by it quite naturally.  In any event, I’ve mentioned before that he was raised mostly by a divorced woman in the 30s that moved to California with him and his younger sister out of the Dust Bowl.  Have any of you read “The Grapes of Wrath”?  Well, then, there you have it.

Anyway, growing up, it was my sister and me with my mother and him raising us.  We were suburban kids born smack dab in the middle of the Baby Boom Generation.  I remember him telling me specifically that part of what he admired so much about my mother is that she was an intelligent college-educated woman who could fend for herself if need be.  I also remember him telling me that he wanted to make sure that both of his daughters could handle being on their own if it ever came down to it, because he didn’t want to ever see us struggle as much as his mother did.  I remember him telling me that, while he hoped we’d never have to worry about being on our own, he wanted to make sure his daughters could survive alone if ever it was necessary.  My sister’s beloved husband died unexpectedly a few years ago.  While it was a major shock and a very sad day, she has been quite able to take care of herself since.  I have been divorced.  I have had a child die.  I have been through major financial set-backs and job layoffs.  I have survived and taken care of myself and those that I love.  I have, as he would have said, landed on all 4’s like a cat.  My daddy, along with my mother, helped instill that in me. 

My mother has always wanted the same for us.  She was a college-educated lady in the 1940s when that was rare, and she taught school while I was growing up.  She also became a trainer at a major national department store chain and retired as a store manager many years later.  She has always been quite adept at handling herself.  However, from her background, she also always tried very, very hard to raise us to be “ladies” and to be able to fit into any society event there might be.  I learned very young how to function in formal society, how to handle formal banquets (for example, what plates, silverware, glasses, bowls, etc were to be used for each course), how to dress “properly” for whatever the occasion might be, how to do and/or be however was required.  I may not always choose to be in those situations or to even do what I’m “supposed” to do, but I know how (at least generally) if I so choose and if the occasion arises.

So, while I love the fact that I can fit in anywhere when I need to (which is another reason why I think I can handle the political/government environment in which I work), this is where my daddy would say he “won” … because I prefer the country … out of “formal society” … away from the cities … out where I can run barefoot if I want to … out with my dog and cats … out where I can just be me.

 

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 I guess from their diverse backgrounds and from the fact that we moved so much when I was a kid, I learned how to fit in anywhere any time with anyone.  My father was a corporate transferee in the 60s and early 70s as a credit manager.  While I was born in Southern California, I have lived in California, Ohio, Texas, and Illinois, and I have travelled to approximately 45 out of the 50 states.  I love this background quite honestly as it makes me very versatile.  I will also state unequivocally … while I know how to fit into high-society if I need to … I’m much more of a “down home” and “tell it like it is” kind of personality.  I don’t like playing societal games, trying to fit in with the neighbors, keeping up with the Jones, putting across a social façade.  What can I say?  That was my father’s doing.

“Don’t be fake, Jill.”

“Go for broke, Jill.”

“Don’t let anyone ever put you down, Jill.”

“Never feel inferior, Jill.”

“Stand tall, Jill.”

“Have an opinion, Jill.”

“Stand up for yourself, Jill.”

“Tell people what you think and who you are, Jill.”

“Believe in yourself, Jill.”

 

Red Neck Woman

Gretchen Wilson

 

Well, I ain’t never been no Barbie Doll type.

No, I can’t swig that sweet champagne.

I’d rather drink beer all night

In a tavern or in a honkytonk or on a 4-wheel drive tailgate.

… You might think I’m trashy,

A little too hard core,

But in my neck of the woods, I’m just the girl next door.

Hey I’m a red neck woman.

I ain’t no high class broad.

I’m just a product of my raisin’.

I say, “Hey, y’all!” and “Yee Hah!”,

And I keep my Christmas lights on on my front porch all year long,

And I know all the words to every Tanya Tucker song.

So here’s to all my sisters out there keepin’ it country!

Let me get a big “Hell Yeah!” from the red neck girls like me!

HELL YEAH!

 

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My father definitely knew that I didn’t fit into the “sugar and spice and everything nice” sort of mold of which little girls are supposedly made (at least as per the old rhyme).  While I have a very unique sense of style and love to dress up in my own manner, I am not one that is the typical frills and lace kind of woman.  My father always knew that I was made more out of gunpowder and lead instead of sugar & spice (or lace & satin … or whatever).

What can I say?  If it’s true, well, then, it’s true.

We’ll just put it this way:  he made sure that I can quite clearly hold my own no matter what.

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Essentially, I was taught to have my independence if need be but to have a partner in life if I also so desired; to have my own sense of style (because I’m taller than average [he was 6’5”], he taught me to carry my height proudly and not be like a lot of women that try to be something they aren’t); to have the ability to fit in however, whenever, wherever, and with whomever as necessary.  So I do …

 

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He taught me to expect to be treated like a lady by the man in my life but to be an equal partner like my mother was with him.

Oh … and by the way … Roy agrees … I am an equal partner … I am treated like a lady … and I most definitely do deserve bigger diamonds …

 

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… but then again … I digress … as that’s not the point of this blog-post …

 🙂

 I have a lot of great memories of my father, even though it’s been 22 years since he died.  I remember him teaching me to ride a bike.  I remember him teaching me to sled down a hill when we lived in Ohio. I remember him quizzing us so that we’d memorize all the state capitols.  I remember him taking us to places like New Orleans and Big Bend National Park and New York City and Monterey and Balboa Island.  I remember him teaching me how to pour beer and champagne so that it wouldn’t bubble over the top of a glass … when I was 10.  (No, he didn’t let me DRINK IT … he just taught me how to pour it properly at that age.)  I remember him building snow men with us.  I remember him trying to teach me to drive, with me returning in tears and him swearing and yelling … so my mother took over that job.  I also remember him yelling at us (quite loudly I might add) when we did something wrong, but I more clearly remember the twinkle in his eye when my mother was mad at us and he didn’t want to interfere, but he wanted to let us know that they still loved us.

I remember him walking me down the aisle at my first wedding and seeing his eyes tear up.  I remember he used to check on me even while I was married to make sure I was ok.  (I was.  That marriage collapse is not part of anything I’m willing to discuss here ever as it’s between my ex-husband and me.  Suffice it to say that he and I are good friends, and he’s a good friend to Roy also.  We all sat side-by-side in the front row at our daughter’s wedding and joked between us the entire time.)  In any event, I wish my father could have met my second husband too.  I wish he could have been at my second wedding.  He’d have loved Roy too.  He supported me in whatever decision I needed to make for my own life.  I wish he could have been at my daughter’s recent wedding.  At least his picture was on the memorial table along with my 2nd son’s picture.  (Keegan died 13 years ago.)

Again, however, I digress. 

I think one of the fondest memories I have is how much my mother and he loved to dance.  I grew up watching them dance to Big Band music and loved it.  He would dance with my sister and me around the living room … or wherever.  I have a clear memory of being about 8 or 10 and out to dinner with the family at a nice restaurant.  I remember standing on his feet while he moved around the dance floor with me to a jazz ensemble playing.  He had a major love of music … but didn’t love any particular kind.  He loved hearing my mother play the piano.  You also might just as well hear him listening to Big Band as you would Rock or Classical or Jazz or Country, and even though his singing was not something anyone with a normal ear would classify as “singing”, he would “sing” anyway, and it would always make me feel happy inside.  I miss dancing with my father.  I still miss it.  I know my mother does also.  It was part of who he was, which makes it part of who I am.  Like I have said above, he’s a reflection in his daughter’s eyes.

 

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Dance with My Father

Luther Vandross

 

Back when I was a child,

Before life removed all the innocence,

My father would lift me up

And dance with my mother and me and then

Spin me around till I fell asleep.

Then up the stairs he would carry me,

And I knew for sure

I was loved.

If I could get another chance, another walk, another dance with him,

I’d play a song that would never ever end.

How I’d love, love, love

To dance with my father again.

When I and my mother would disagree,

To get my way I would run from her to him.

He’d make me laugh just to comfort me

Then finally make me do just what my mama said.

Later that night when I was asleep,

He left a dollar under my sheet,

Never dreamed that he would be gone from me.

If I could steal one final glance, one final step, one final dance with him,

I’d play a song that would never ever end,

Because I’d love, love, love to dance with my father again.

Sometimes I’d listen outside her door,

And I’d hear how my mother cried for him.

I pray for her even more than me.

I pray for her even more than me.

I know I’m praying for much too much,

But could you send back the only man she loved?

I know you don’t do it usually,

But, Dear Lord, she’s dying to dance with my father again.

Every night I fall asleep and this is all I ever dream.

 

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I have other great memories of my father, but I’ll just focus on a couple more.  I have said this often, but we moved a lot when I was a kid, which means that we weren’t always near family at holidays.  I love that on holidays we would find other “strays” as my father would call them (as well as us) that also had no family nearby and would get together with them.  We really learned a lot about other people that way.  I love that I can fit in anywhere.  I love that I met all sorts of people. 

However, it also made it so that we learned to depend on each other very strongly, because we were all we had that was “constant”.  The last time I moved with my family was when I was a sophomore in high school.  My mother was a school teacher and needed to finish her contract through the semester.  My sister was a senior in high school and wanted to graduate with her friends there.  Along with my parents, we decided that it was best for me to move mid-year at Christmas break, as that way I’d be starting back to school with everyone else, and I’d be able to make some friends throughout the rest of the year at my new high school.  My father had started his new job in Northern California, and my mother and sister were still in Southern California.  I moved the beginning of January to live with my father until my mother finished her contract a little after that.  My sister stayed with friends after my mother left until she graduated from high school in the spring.  My point in this, however, is the time frame that it was just my father and me.

No matter how many times you move, it’s still very difficult moving when you are 15 years old and in the middle of high school.  I left behind my very first “boyfriend”, which was, of course, my massively major heartbreak of the century to my tender teenage heart.  As most long distance relationships at that age go, it didn’t last.  I was a disaster case.  My father did everything in his power to cheer me up.  We even took little weekend trips.  I remember one in particular where we drove to Oregon on the spur of the moment to visit long-time family friends.  That was probably one of the most fun times and one of my best memories of things that he and I did together ever.  I remember him telling me each and every time I got teenage weepy or teenage weird that we’d “make it through together” as it was “him and me against the world”.  This man even let me try to make dinner for us most nights when he came home from work.  I had never cooked meals in my life.  Suffice it to say that I learned fast … and any man I’ve ever cooked for since was the beneficiary of him smiling through clenched teeth and telling me that my cooking was WONDERFUL.  It wasn’t … but it was “him and me against the world”.

 

You And Me Against The World

Helen Reddy

 

You and me against the world!

Sometimes it feels like you and me against the world!

When all the others turn their backs and walk away,

You can count on me to stay!

Remember when the circus came to town,

And you were frightened by the clown?

Wasn’t it nice to be around

Someone that you knew,

Someone who was big and strong

And looking out for you?

You and me against the world!

Sometimes it feels like you and me against the world!

And for all the times we’ve cried,

I always felt that God was on our side,

And when one of us is gone,

And one of us is left to carry on,

Then remembering will have to do.

Our memories alone will get us through.

Think about the days of me and you.

You and me against the world!

Daddy, my memories of you supporting me NO MATTER WHAT have gotten me through things that I wasn’t sure how I’d get through.  I have always known … that if you could do it through the Great Depression with a divorced mother … through World War 2 … through supporting yourself through college with the help of the GI Bill … through numerous moves around the country … through your health issues … through your financial issues … through whatever you had to go through … well, then so could I.

So I’ll end with this.  I remember the day I heard that you were dying.  I remember my mother calling me and telling me to come to the hospital.  You had been in and out with all sorts of issues relating to your heart, your lungs, and your diabetes.  Your strength of character and iron-will brought you through so much.  However, as you always told me to do, you had played the cards you were dealt in life, you had never ever folded, and you had enjoyed the game while you were in it.  You had also said, “When the game ends, leave gracefully with a smile on your face.”

I left home an hour away and brought my children, then almost 10, 8½, and 3½, to their cousin’s house to be watched by older cousins.  I arrived at the hospital and came up next to your bed.  Your health was tenuous at best.  I could tell that you were hanging on for us … particularly for Mom.  I put my hand in yours, and you gripped it.  I saw you smile.  You were still fighting a valiant battle, but it was time for your game to be done, and you knew it.  You even had that smile on your face.

Up until that point, this became one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do.  I lay my head down next to you on your hospital bed while I sat in the chair.  I told you, “It’s ok, Dad.  It’s ok to let go.  We’ll be ok.  Mom will be ok.  We’ll all make sure each other are ok.  You helped make us strong.  Go be with your God.  You can let go now, Daddy.”

The first time I heard this song, I remember crying myself to sleep.

 

You Can Let Go

Crystal Shawanda

 

Wind blowin’ on my face

Sidewalk flyin’ beneath my bike

A five year-old’s first taste

Of what freedom’s really like

He was runnin’ right beside me

His hand holdin’ on the seat

I took a deep breath and hollered

As I headed for the street

You can let go now, Daddy

You can let go

Oh, I think I’m ready

To do this on my own

It’s still a little bit scary

But I want you to know

I’ll be ok now, Daddy

You can let go

I was standin’ at the altar

Between the two loves of my life

To one I’ve been a daughter

To one I soon would be a wife

When the preacher asked,

‘Who gives this woman?’

Daddy’s eyes filled up with tears

He kept holdin’ tightly to my arm

‘Till I whispered in his ear

You can let go now, Daddy

You can let go

Oh, I think I’m ready

To do this on my own

It still feels a little bit scary

But I want you to know

I’ll be ok now, Daddy

You can let go

It was killin’ me to see

The strongest man I ever knew

Wastin’ away to nothin’

In that hospital room

‘You know he’s only hangin’ on for you’

That’s what the night nurse said

My voice and heart were breakin’

As I crawled up in his bed, and said

You can let go now, Daddy

You can let go

Your little girl is ready

To do this on my own

It’s gonna be a little bit scary

But I want you to know

I’ll be ok now, Daddy

You can let go

You can let go

 

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 “She gets hungry for dinner at 8.  She loves the theatre, doesn’t come late.  She’d never bother with anyone she’d hate.  That’s why the lady is a tramp …  will not dish the dirt with the rest of those girls.  That’s why this chick is a tramp.  She loves the free cool wind in her hair, life without care.  She’s broke, but it’s oke.  Doesn’t like California, it’s cold and it’s damp.  That’s why the lady is a tramp.  She gets far too hungry, baby, to wait there for dinner at 8.  She adores the theatre, however doesn’t get there late.  She’d never bother with someone she’d hate.  That is why the lady is a tramp.” 

‘THE LADY IS A TRAMP’; Frank Sinatra

 

 

i'm different

 

 

No one has ever understood me, as I’ve said before.  I come from a long line of people who the sheeple of this world don’t understand.  That’s ok with me.  I’m happy with who I am and I do ok in life (generally at least).  I may get knocked down but I always come back up, swinging.  Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, will ever keep me down for long.

In any event, I have always had family and friends that laugh at me because I’m different and I march to my own beat.  That’s ok.  I also know that I fascinate them all with how I carry on.  That’s ok too.  All I care about is if my husband, my children, and my mother/father love me and care for me.  They do.  They may not always understand me … but they love me for who and what I am.

 

 

“… My friend, I’ll say it clear.  I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain.  I’ve lived a life that’s full.  I traveled each and every highway, and more, much more than this, I did it my way!  Regrets?  I’ve had a few but, then again, too few to mention.  I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption.  I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway, and more, much more than this, I did it my way.  Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew, when I bit off more than I could chew, but, through it all, when there was doubt, I ate it up and spit it out.  I faced it all, and I stood tall and did it my way.  I’ve loved.  I’ve laughed and cried.  I’ve had my fill, my share of losing, and now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing.  To think I did all that, and may I say, not in a shy way!  Oh, no!  Oh, no, not me!  I did it my way.  For what is a man?  What has he got, if not himself, then he has naught, to say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels?  The record shows I took the blows and did it my way.  Yes, it was my way.”

‘MY WAY’

 

 

I think I’ve done ok with my life.  I am a Baby Boomer that was raised a suburban kid.  I went through college.  I got a good degree.  I stopped working to raise my children.  Two out of my three wonderful children had disabilities.  One of them has died.  I’ve been through divorce, major medical issues of my own, financial upheaval, remarriage, relocation, unemployment, and job searches.  However, I have ended up with a pretty darn good job (since I must have a job right now, although I’d sooner not work than have to work, but that’s a different topic altogether) on Capitol Mall in Sacramento, 2 blocks from the State Capitol Building, in a very politically charged arena, and am being promoted quickly up that ladder.  Roy and I have a thriving online marketing business and a mobile disc jockey business.  We live in a terrific rural area, well outside of suburbia and city-life, which is definitely our preference.  Roy has a good new job.  After many years of instability financially, we came out as united as ever, swinging and fighting our way out.  We have, as we both always do, landed on all 4’s.  (Yes, that’s a mixed metaphor and I don’t care.)

 

 

“… & everything’s starting to hum. Still it’s a real good bet the best is yet to come.  The best is yet to come, and, babe, won’t that be fine?  You think you’ve seen the sun but you ain’t seen it shine. Wait till the warm up’s under way … and wait till you see that sun shine day.  You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!  The best is yet to come, and, babe, won’t it be fine?  The best is yet to come!”

‘THE BEST IS YET TO COME’

 

 

Today is my birthday and I love having birthdays … because they are by far better than the alternative of not being here to have one.  I am cut from a different cloth than most people and celebrate my uniqueness … and I’m glad to be married to someone who saw that in me and celebrates the fact that his wife is unique and different too.  As Roy has told me, that’s much of what attracted him to me … and part of why he married me … because he knew he was the same and that way we’d understand each other’s quirkiness.  I continue to do it “my way” and plan on doing it “my way” for some time to come.

Now, admittedly, at times Roy (or those that love me) may get frustrated by the fact that I am not normal, but I can’t and won’t change … and they wouldn’t really want me to do so.  At least someone who truly loves you wouldn’t want you to change.

While I’m not by any definition of the word “young” any longer, my spirit is … and my personality is … and I will live to enjoy my life as long as I can.  Using my love of good wines … my life is like vintage wine, all the way from the brim to the dregs!  I’m still living it to the fullest no matter what happens and no matter how old I am.

 

 

“When I was 17, it was a very good year. … When I was 21, it was a very good year. … When I was 35, it was a very good year.  … but now the days are short, I’m in the autumn of the year, and now I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs, from the brim to the dregs, it pours sweet and clear. It was (and is) a very good year.”  

‘IT WAS A VERY GOOD YEAR’

 

 

So …

… with that …

 

 

WHEN I WAS 58, IT WAS A VERY GOOD YEAR, NO MATTER WHAT ISSUES CAME UP!

 

 

AS I TURN 59 YEARS OLD TODAY, I CAN HONESTLY SAY THIS UPCOMING YEAR WILL MOST DEFINITELY BE A *VERY* GOOD YEAR!!!

 

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

 

 

birthday

 

 

There may be only a few of us “mavericks” around … but Roy (and my daughter) in particular knows this would fit me better than a lot of people who think they know me realize.

 

 

boots and dirt

Roy figured out that this is the way I am …

… and married me anyway …

… and loves me anyway …

… whether I’m in my cowboy boots …

…or …

… on my mountain bike …

… but …

… I do love my boots!!!

 

 

“Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots, and ruined your black tie affair.  The last one to know, the last one to show, I was the last one you thought you’d see there  …   Well, I guess I was wrong.  I just don’t belong, but then, I’ve been there before.  Everything’s all right.  I’ll just say, ‘Good Night!’, and I’ll show myself to the door. Hey, I didn’t mean to cause a big scene  …  Yeah, I’m not big on social graces, think I’ll slip on down to the Oasis, cuz I’ve got friends in low places …”

‘FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES’, Garth Brooks

 

 

While I may have been born into a fairly comfortable life up-front, things haven’t always gone “easy” for me, and I fought my way through.  Besides, as I’ve discussed before … I never fit the mold of “California Girl” or “suburbia” (more like “suburgatory” in my eyes) or “high-class” or “Beverly Hills” or “Hollywood” or however you want to classify any part of me being born in California in the middle of the Baby Boom generation.  I am more in line with people like many of my ancestors  …  7 brothers thrown out of Ireland in the 1600’s and sent to the New World  …  a young German boy who stowed away on a ship in the 1700’s and came to America on his own, never looking back  …  the upper-crust that chose to move to California in the early 1900’s in search of entrepreneurship and a less stifling life  …  a divorced Dust Bowl woman who moved to California with 2 young children  …  Rob Roy  …  or so many more than are listed.

 

 

“I wish they all could be California girls …”

‘CALIFORNIA GIRLS’, The Beach Boys

 

 

I may have been born a suburban Baby Boomer kid raised mostly in California (but not completely … read prior blogs) listening to rock-n-roll music and raised fairly comfortably, but you can’t even classify me by the music I like.  I like Big Band.  I like Classical.  I like Rock.  I like Country.  I like a variety of other things.  I’ll credit my mommy and my daddy for giving me a wide foundation in music.  (I just don’t like rap.)  Don’t try to classify me.  It won’t work.  Probably the closest is this:

 

 

“I am a red, white, and blue blood graduate of Honkytonk U.  That’s right – a red, white, and blue blood graduate of Honkytonk U.” 

Toby Keith

 

 

No … I’m not politically correct.

… never have been … never will be …

 

 

Pay close attention here …

 

 

I NEVER HAVE BEEN POLITICALLY CORRECT!

I NEVER WILL BE POLITICALLY CORRECT!

 

 

 

… getting ready to go ziplining in Kauai with Roy …

 

 

Hey, Roy, it’s time for me to put on my boots!

Let’s go out to dinner tonight and celebrate my birthday in STYLE!

I’ll try not to get dirty or muddy … but I won’t guarantee anything … ever … 

 

 

 

 

 

Carry on, all!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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